The air in the room was stifling and smelled of used up deodorant, stale coffee, and cigarettes. Seems every person to testify before her was a smoker. Damn smokers and their addiction to filth, she thought condescendingly.
Delicately she adjusted herself in the withering wooden chair having just promised God, the lawyers, and all these - people - that she'd tell the absolute truth.
People. God's people. Someone's people.
Her son had been people too and he'd done terrible, egregious things. But that wasn't her fault. She told him to go to church. She told him to watch his diet and to be kind. Apparently his path was one of brimstone and fire. She'd lived her life by the book so this trial should be her moment of truth, her moment to prove herself.
Mrs. Weedgrass looked around the room and in the back, saw a door slowly open. She showed. She was wearing black and large sunglasses. In the smothering heat, she looked like a spector not a person.
That God-forsaken victim-woman had shown up for this. Her presence made Mrs. Weedgrass suddenly nervous and perspiration whetted the foundation around her temples.
"Mrs. Weedgrass," started Mr. Jeffries, her attorney, would you tell me what it was like raising your son? What the doctors told you when he was a child? They'd recommend a strict regimine, diet, exercise...how did you feel about that?"
Sighing, Mrs. Weedgrass glanced at her hands and squeezed them tightly. Her body tensed at the sight of her flesh wringing together in a mesh of skin, the layers of pink turning white with pressure. It was then that her mind flashed back and she suddenly didn't want to testify on her own behalf.
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